I think this is really interesting because of how it leads to structural world-building elements: essentially, in fantasy or science fiction, reality can be deviated from only explicitly. Any time the author has not specifically given a cause for deviation, the audience presumes that the standard “Natural Default” rules apply.

In fantasy, the deviation can be a little easier, because by explicitly saying “Magic,” you can include a lot of attendant implications that, by convention, are acceptable to a lot of fantasy readers–though, again interestingly, not to non-fantasy readers, who will still complain about how the weight-to-wingspan ratio of a dragon makes flight completely impossible.

You and I disagree about Excession not because we disagree about what “Reality Standard” is in terms of pregnancy, but because we disagree about the implications attached to Banks’ explicit depiction of Culture science: for me, the implication suggests that any physical discomfort is eliminated by their super-advanced techno-health, even in extreme biological conditions. But since Banks never says that, there’s room for you to reject that implication, and thus view Excession as an unforwarned deviation from the reality standard.

I think that the way you make the impossible believeable–whether it is the Culture or Wonder Woman or magic swords/horses, is in fact by embedding it in what feels utterly real (even if it isn’t really mimetic). Readers have to be able to identify at some level with the characters, be able to place themselves in the scene, or they won’t experience the story.

But belching Edwardian script… that’s starting to sound like Garth Nix.

The second thing is that most of the reasons that women don’t want to prolong pregnancy have to do with the enormous amount of discomfort that it causes–something that is basically a non-issue among the ultra, almost superhumanly healthy members of the Culture.

This is pertinent; Banks created a universe where an implausible thing is really kind of plausible: that is, if you accept his universe’s rules at the outset, then the ordinarily unbelievable things should fit.

But if swordsmen are swinging around swords without regard to health (and, speaking as a long-time fencer and Western Martial Arts enthusiast, let me say that a medieval longsword is even heavier and more unwieldy than a katana–so heavy that parries are much less likely actions than simple displacement), and horses are running a million miles a day, then the author has implicitly suggested that there is a new, special rule governing horses that was heretofore undiscussed. It feels cheap.

Weirdly, I was just having a conversation about this–author’s accuracy versus audience flexibility–on another site. It had to do with Wonder Woman’s new armor; on the one hand, her new armor was insanely idiotic from both a practical and aesthetic standpoint. On the other hand, she could fly and was super strong, two characteristics which are already unbelievable.

Do I demand realism, in which case how can she fly on her own power? Or do I accept non-realism, in which case I shouldn’t be surprised if she turns into a jar of nuclear marmalade and starts belching Edwardian script?

Clearly, some kind of compromise is in order.

Probably the main thing is not to use the elements thoughtlessly. A horse that performs like a car because the writer hasn’t thought about the difference between a horse and a car is a cliche. A horse that performs like a car, or better, when the writer knows full well the limits of an ordinary horse, can be pretty interesting (e.g. the mighty Morgenstern vs. the other horses in the Amber series). A duellist should never breach courtesy except on purpose; likewise a fantasist should never breach realism except on purpose.

A note on Tough Guide–it’s not an encyclopedia but a satire of cliches, so you won’t find the answers to all your research questions. I also had the experience reading it of thinking I hadn’t read a lot of the books she had, but then I’d hit another entry that was spot on.

Regarding reality-challenged readers and reviewers, once you send a story out into the world you lose control of it, including how people will read it. Partly the problem is that reality is often much stranger than people think. For my most recent story (”Pelago,” Feb. Asimov’s) I did some research on how deep people could dive without pressure suits and discovered the world of competitive extreme diving. Record-holders have gone down 200 meters with no equipment except a wet suit–and that’s a 8 or 9 minute swim back up to the surface with no air. Who could have made that up?